


Scars

by DawnTurnsToDusk



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, F/F, Fluff, One Shot, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, Scars, Short, Tattoos, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-22
Updated: 2016-11-22
Packaged: 2018-09-01 14:20:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8627875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DawnTurnsToDusk/pseuds/DawnTurnsToDusk
Summary: Ginny, a soldier in Iraq comes home after a deadly wound that spans from her left hip, up her side, her shoulder blade, then to her jaw. It almost killed her. She spends several months in infirmary trying to recover and when she did, the war was over. Forced back into the civilian life she lives on her army compensation pay before eventually picking up a part time job as a coffee shop attendant. Due to such a public job and the more than necessary revealing outfit  people stare at her scars. Frustrated and tired, Ginny goes to her local tattoo parlour to cover it up.





	

The gunfire had stopped for several hours, the night was cold, heavy and unwelcoming. Fear danced over the dunes behind them and played in the streets before them. The silence was unbearable. Nothing moved out there, in the dead, darkened street. Shattered building spilled their insides and the ground was ripped up, like a giant yawning mouth. Waiting to drag them to their deaths if they stepped foot on the road. There was only silence and waiting. Waiting for what, they were never sure. 

 

Crouched behind the overturned truck was a band of 10 people. Ginny was as silent and unmoving as the building around them. Her face was smeared with dried blood and covered with a dark muck. Her hair, once so long and beautiful now lay choppy and dull around her chin. Her eyes were narrowed, peering through the gaps in the trucks hull. Searching for the sign.

“Up.” Her voice was a whisper, but was full with venom. The people behind her wordless obeyed. “We move to the first post on the west, then turn north and you shall make for the middle of the park. There’s a safe house there. It’ll be a long run,” she paused, taking a deep breath, “if for some reason you are stupid then you should know that in the building directly ahead there is a sniper.” True to her word, half way up a mangled grey building was a gaping chasm where the glint of a gun barrel could be seen. “We have one shot at this. You’re only hope, is to take cover beside the buildings or run.” Suddenly she whipped her head around. “If you go inside the buildings we’re all screwed, they have mines in them.” The group was holding their breath in fear and anticipation.

 

“Go.”

 

They had only just started running when Ginny realised something was wrong. A low, steady rumbling had filled the air, that of a plane and the sniper, rather than aiming for the group of people. Had shot a large, previously thought empty tank of fuel. This at first was no problem, shooting at it would only make it leak. Then, as if from nowhere, a figure, carrying a flaming torch appeared, throwing it forward. It hit the oil, and mayhem broke out. Heat like there had never been scorched Ginny, she fell, temporarily blinded to the floor, the white of the fire lay imprinted on her eyeballs and red was glowing omminously. A scream ripped through the air as Ginny opened her eyes. One of her men was on fire, he’d become a flaming torch and his screams brought her to her feet. Glancing around she saw that two of her 10 had fallen, gun wounds in their backs, the man on fire had succumb to its burning heat and another two were being dragged away by the dark figure.

 

5 were left, there was no point in waiting. Jumping up, Ginny slipped on the wet ground before regaining her balance and moving. She ran, ran so fast that a bullet that would have killed her whistled past her right ear. The sound of rumbling was growing louder by the second. She reached the pole and turned north, there was no going back now, no buildings, trees, rocks, anything to hide behind. She had one goal. There was a thump behind her, like a body hitting the ground and she felt pain stab so severely at her heart but she couldn’t mourn anyone now. 

 

She just reached a point where it was as far back to the buildings as it was to safety. Then she saw it. A large dark plane, its underside opening and a large, black shape falling with a carefully perfected whistle. It was, quite a distance from her but she was still in the blast zone and with nothing to protect herself, she was a good as dead. Where could she go? A split second choice flashed in her head and she turned, towards an abandoned two story building, the closet. She could reach it in a few seconds, a few more. 

 

Then, the world went black and silent.

 

Ginny jerked awake, fear flooding through her veins, her throat closed up and tears spilling down her pale cheeks. It had been so real, replaying it in her head. Even though it had been a year, the memories still haunted her, brushing its cold hands against her forehead when sleep finally claimed her. There was no point lying in the small bed anymore. Glancing at the clock she saw it was still early. Although anything was better than sleep.

 

\---------

 

The day had been slow and painful, left side was a dull irritating thud and twice she’d blinked back hot angry tears. She had been scarred. Viciously scarred. From her left hip a large, twisted, ugly piece of tissue, it had long vines that spread at it went further up, passing over her left shoulder blade and starting up her neck, finally finishing at the bottom of her jaw. It was a staring point. She’d been living civilian life for almost seven months now and only in the last two had gotten a proper job. She worked, in the front line, a coffee server. Everyday people would stare and it only made the pain more intense. 

 

Ginny stripped down to her underwear and stared at herself in the small dirty mirror. The scar, the bane, the constant reminder. Her frail body, her muscles wasting away, her lack of proper care of herself. Her hair, dull and faded and now choppily resting on her shoulders. She was a wreck and even she could see it. Hatred boiled inside her. She was sick of her post war body. Of how she no longer cared. Before the war, she was beautiful, people loved her, she danced at parties and sung loudly. Now, she was scared of fireworks. She felt, pathetic. She was kidding herself by trying to live this life, this normal life. 

 

This hatred, this pain. Had been running through her veins since her return welled up, forcing a cry from her lips and for more hot tears to make their steady way down her porcelain cheeks. She needed to do something drastic, something to change everything. Around her, the room darkened and the shadows grew, morphing into grotesque, vile shapes that danced around her, taunting her with sharp, cold laughter, Things flittered in and out of focus and the floor rushed to meet her fragile body, she shattered, like a vase on tiles.

 

\---------

 

Rain, cold and wind. Ginnys mind was the tempest that threw even the strongest boats upon the sharp rocks. Her body was a vessel and inside was only storm. Her clouded, confused mind had come to a conclusion. She could fix this. She was Ginerva Weasley, youngest child of seven, six older brothers and the only daughter. She’d learnt diplomacy from Bill who worked overseas. She’d learnt dedication from Charlie. She’d learnt politics from Percy. Cunning and ambition from Fred and George and lastly, courage from Ron. She was strong. She could do it.

 

The street was grey. But her intentions were not. She moved like a flighty bird, darting over the ground, barely stopping as if fearing an attack. Soon she reached her destination. Walking inside she placed a piece of paper on the table and spoke in a voice opposite to what she felt.   
“I need a tattoo.” At this a delicate asian women looked up.   
“Obviously.” She replied, a faint trace of boredom on her face, “Why else you would be in a tattoo shop?” Ginny chose to ignore this and pushed the piece of paper towards her.  
“May I please have this design.” She put emphasis on the ‘please’. The pretty girl smiled,   
“Of course.”

 

Ginny lay on the bed, face pressed into bed and feeling bare. She was only in her knickers and her boobs were wedged underneath her. Her body felt tense.  
“Relax,” purred the tattoo artist who had greeted her. “I’m going to clean the area and make sure there are no hairs.” Then the hands were upon her, they had gloves on but Ginny could feel the light pressing of her fingers and the unnatural coolness of the rubbing alcohol. “To make customer more relax we talk to them about ourselves and other experiences. Would you like this?” The voice spoke, bathing Ginnys ears in a sweet bliss.  
“Sure.” Ginny's reply was muffled but was heard anyway.  
“My name is Cho, Cho Chang.” Her voice was like water running over rocks, pure and crisp. “I’ve been a tattoo artist for seven years now and I have two sleeves, one tattoo on my shoulder blade, thigh and one on my ankle. “The pain isn’t as bad as you think.”

 

There was no hesitations in her hands, they moved slowly and steadily. As if Ginnys side, shoulder and neck were regularly visited. There wasn’t even a gasp as they slid softly over the scar tissue, following it up, up, up to the gentle skin on her neck. Cho brushed over her pulse, which started to beat even more rapidly. 

 

“Are you ready?”

 

\---------

 

It took two sessions to complete. Two sessions of pain but also, beauty. In the end the sprawling mass of ink lay across her, skin feeling raw.  
“You did well. High pain tolerance.” Cho spoke into the silence.  
“Yes.”   
“May I-” Cho started but was cut off by Ginny.  
“Only if you buy me a coffee from the place across the road. You said it was your favourite.” A smile appeared on Cho’s delicate, pink lips.   
“Now?”  
“Now.”  
“Then let’s go.” Cho held out one arm, which was covered in beautiful tattoos which Ginny clasped. A smile spread across Ginnys face and for the first time in seven months. She

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! This is my second work and feel free to kudos :)
> 
> (Obviously I don't own Harry Potter, that's JK Rowlings)


End file.
